THE ASCENT OF CLOUDY MOUNTAIN, NEW GUINEA.
BY CAPTAIN CYPRIAN BRIDGE, R.N.
The Rev. James Chalmers—known all along the southern coast of New Guinea, throughout the original British protectorate in fact, as ‘Ta-ma-té’—will always be held responsible for the first ascent of Cloudy Mountain. Taking advantage of the presence of Commodore Erskine’s squadron at South Cape, he instilled into the minds of some of the officers a desire to get to the summit. With the persuasive eloquence of which his many friends know him to be a master, he expatiated on the honourable nature of the enterprise, dwelling on the fact that no white man had as yet attempted it. It is not wonderful that he excited considerable enthusiasm; nor is it, perhaps, wonderful that, as the climate is a moist one and as the warm tropical season was well advanced, some of the enthusiasm had greatly decreased when the day for starting arrived. It was interesting to observe how many pressing engagements happened to prevent some of the more eager aspirants for alpine honours from attempting Cloudy Mountain, when the expedition was definitely determined on. One had arrears of correspondence to make up; another had promised to join a friend in a shooting excursion; whilst a third wisely took into consideration the fact of his being no longer young. It would have been well for at least one of the party that afterwards made the ascent if he also had remembered that the middle age is not the best time of life at which to try climbing almost precipitous elevations through trackless forests in the atmosphere of a hothouse.
On Friday, the 21st of November, the union-jack had been hoisted, and the British protectorate over the southern coast of New Guinea had been proclaimed with imposing ceremonies on Stacey Island, South Cape. Time, which is usually deficient when naval officers visit places from which interesting excursions can be made, did not allow of the start for the summit of the mountain being deferred till the following day. It was compulsory to get away as soon as possible after the ceremony. Mr Chalmers, whom no exertion can tire, made arrangements for collecting a body of native carriers. He advised each excursionist to take a change of clothes, a blanket, and enough food for twenty-four hours. By about eleven A.M. there were assembled at the village of Hanod, at the head of Bertha Lagoon, the following: Captain C. Bridge; Lieutenants R. N. Ommanney and M. Thomson; R. Millist, captain’s steward, of H.M.S. Espiègle; Commander W. H. Henderson; Lieutenant T. C. Fenton; Mr Glaysher, engineer; Mr T. W. Stirling, midshipman; four blue-jackets, and one R.M. artilleryman of H.M.S. Nelson; Lieutenant John L. Marx, commanding H.M.S. Swinger; Sub-lieutenant A. Pearson, of H.M.S. Dart; and Mr Stuart of Sydney, New South Wales.
The tribes inhabiting the country about South Cape are of the dark race, and were cannibals, until their recent renunciation of the practice, under the influence of the missionaries. They are a much merrier and more talkative people than the non-cannibal light-coloured race, which dwells farther to the westward. The work of selecting carriers proceeded with much vociferation; the carriers themselves, their friends, and all the ladies of the village—in this part of New Guinea the influence of woman is great—considering it necessary to address lengthy speeches in a loud tone to the white strangers. That not one of these understood a sentence of what was being said to them, by no means discouraged the eloquence of the villagers. ‘Ta-ma-té’s’ extraordinary faculty of influencing the natives in a cheery way soon introduced order into what looked very much like hopeless confusion. With the aid of the teacher Biga, who could speak both the Motu and the South Cape languages, he chose a sufficient number of carriers, appointed as guide an elderly native who professed to have been to the top of the mountain, and set about distributing the loads to be carried. The wages agreed upon were a small ‘trade’ knife and three sticks of tobacco, value in all about eightpence per man. Some biscuit and a little extra tobacco were given afterwards, to keep up the spirits of the party during the journey.
Though not much troubled with clothes, our new friends were, at all events relatively to the western tribes, decently clad. The women wear a becoming petticoat of leaves and fibre, coming down to the knee. They often put on several of these garments one above the other, the effect being much the same as that of a capacious crinoline. In New Guinea, the women are tattooed from forehead to ankles, occasionally in very elaborate patterns. The name Papua given to New Guinea is said to mean ‘woolly-headed,’ and the appellation has been well bestowed. The men of both races ‘tease’ their hair out into a prodigious mop. So do the girls. Married women cut theirs short. The bushy wig which many of the natives of this region seem to be wearing decidedly improves their appearance. When their hair is cut short, the similarity of their features to those of African negroes becomes more obvious. They are not tall; but they have well-shaped limbs, and many of them are sturdy fellows. The usual weight for a native carrier is twenty-five pounds. But, as the number of travellers likely to ascend Cloudy Mountain had greatly fallen off, we found ourselves with more carriers than we could supply loads for. The result was that some at all events had very light burdens. One man, for instance, carried an empty tin case for specimens of plants; another, a few sheets of blotting-paper between two thin pieces of board provided for the same purpose.
When officers land in the South Sea Islands, nicety of dress is not much attended to. A helmet or straw-hat, a shirt, a pair of flannel trousers, and boots or shoes more remarkable for utility than elegance, are found quite sufficient. In a moist hot climate, the less clothing the better; and in countries in which there are no roads, not many paths, and where, as a rule, progress is only possible through thick forest and over muddy ground, the fewer garments worn, the fewer there are to be cleaned at the end of an excursion.
For the first half-hour after leaving the village on Bertha Lagoon, the way ran across a mangrove swamp of soft mud, interspersed with pools of black-looking water, and studded with the peculiar and aggravating knobs that the roots of the mangrove bush delight to form. It was worth while to note the care with which most of the excursionists began to pick their way; some even evinced a desire not to wet their boots. To keep the nether garments clean was clearly in general considered an object worth trying for. But after a few rapid and involuntary descents from slippery logs, seductively resembling bridges, placed across the most forbidding sloughs, a determination to push on straight and discontinue efforts to circumvent puddles, became universally apparent. When the swamp had been left behind some distance, our carriers, who belonged to a humorous race, kindly informed us, through the interpreters—their faces beaming with delight as the information was imparted—that they could have taken us by a route which would have avoided it altogether. This statement was proved to be true on our return, as some of the party escaped traversing the swamp a second time by taking a path which led to the westward of it, and others descended in canoes the lower part of a river that discharges itself into the lagoon. When asked why they had not let us know of the existence of a more agreeable road, our native friends made the unanswerable reply, that none of our party had suggested to them any wish to avoid the mangroves.
For an hour we had now to move along through a well-timbered country, occasionally passing small cultivated patches, where yams, bananas, and taro were grown. The path in most places was not difficult; but it lost itself from time to time in a stream of clear water, whose frequent rapids showed that we had begun to ascend. Repeated wadings had at all events the advantage of removing all traces of our passage across the swamp. The scenery was highly picturesque, especially at some of the reaches of the little river. The pebbly banks were crowned with a rich vegetation; the number and variety of the trees and shrubs—amongst which the wild plantain, palms of various kinds, and the pandanus were conspicuous—were at least as great as in most tropical lands. Glimpses of lofty wooded heights were frequently obtained. A few tuneful birds were heard, and we saw some azure-hued kingfishers. But, as a rule, particularly as the lower country was left, the music of the woods was monopolised by screeching white cockatoos. The scene was greatly enlivened by the number and beauty of the butterflies which flitted amongst the bushes. One of our party had provided himself with a net; and, though occasional bad shots at some peculiarly nimble lepidoptera were made, his ‘bag’ turned out a very good one. On a broad stretch of gravel and pebbles by the side of the water, towards one o’clock, a halt was made for luncheon. The spot was fairly shady, and the heat, considering our position, was not excessive. A biscuit or two was handed to the carriers, and—what delighted them still more—a few small fragments of tobacco. The New Guinea fashion of smoking is peculiar. The pipe is a bamboo tube about two feet long and two inches in diameter, with one end closed. Near this end, a small hole like the mouth-hole of a flute is made, and in it a piece of leaf, twisted into a pointed cup or ‘horn’ containing a little tobacco, is inserted. Applying a light to the tobacco, the smoker sucks vigorously at the open end of the tube; when this is filled with smoke, he puts his lips to the small hole and takes several ‘draws,’ after which the tobacco has to be replenished and the pipe relighted. Politeness flourishes throughout the south-western Pacific Isles; even the naked cannibals of New Britain exhibit to friends that true courtesy which consists in doing as one would be done by. The New Guinean who lights the pipe, when he has filled it with smoke, usually hands it to some one else to have the first whiff. On the present occasion, the pipe was offered first to the white man, to whom, so long as he behaves to them becomingly, Pacific Island natives are almost invariably polite.
The lateness of our start rendered any but a short halt impossible, so the repast was a hasty one. The increasing steepness showed that we had begun the ascent in earnest. A path there certainly was, but, as a rule, it was not easily discerned amid the thick growth of tropical shrubs. As far as the density of the forest would allow us to examine the country to any distance, we appeared to be mounting the ridge of a spur of the main mountain mass. A deep valley lay on either hand, at the bottom of which we could hear the rumbling of a stream. The number of cockatoos increased as we got higher, and some were shot for culinary purposes subsequently. We saw some handsome pigeons, and at least one small flight of the large beaked bird called toucan, though probably it differs from the South American bird to which that name rightly belongs. Ignorance of ornithology made some of us doubt if it were the hornbill or buceros, one of which we heard afterwards overhead puffing like a locomotive, on our way down. The profusion of ferns, palms, orchids, and flowering shrubs was striking. The ascent was really a climb, as the hands had to be used nearly as much as the feet. At one or two points, the face of a steep water-worn rock had to be scaled. Frequent short halts became absolutely necessary; and the head of our long and straggling line of white men and carriers usually resumed the work of ascending as the rear reached the point at which the former had rested. When the afternoon had well advanced—the only watch in the company having been broken at a specially stiff bit of climbing, the exact time could not be told—we had reached a comparatively open space, which our guide declared to be the summit. The impossibility of this being so was demonstrated by the appearance of the true summit, of which a temporary break in the clouds usually hiding it, now permitted a glimpse. Our guide thereupon asserted that it was the only summit which he knew; that no native of the country had ever attempted to mount higher; and that, anyhow, no path was to be found farther on. These assertions were probably true. The correctness at least of the last was soon established beyond the chance of doubt; subsequent progress disclosed the fact that the path, which for the last hour had been scarcely visible by the naked eye, ceased altogether.
When the rear of the line came up, these questions were being debated: Should arrangements be made for camping for the night on the spot then occupied? or should a further attempt to reach the summit be made? Lieutenant Fenton and Mr Stirling settled the matter as far as they were concerned by pushing on with the determination of crowning the mountain by themselves, if no one else cared to follow them. ‘Ta-ma-té’ reviewed the situation in a short and fitting address, which closed with a reminder that not even a native, it was now proved, had ever got to the top. This was enough to prevent any flagging of the enthusiasm necessary to carry the travellers higher. Even the oldest member of the party, who had already begun to doubt the wisdom of joining in such an enterprise by one who had years ago qualified as a member of the ‘senior’ United Service Club, unhesitatingly gave his vote for a continuance of the ascent and for the conquest of the virgin height.
It had been held that the previous part of the journey had afforded instances of some rather pretty climbing. It was child’s play to what followed. Path there was none; the vegetation became if possible denser; and the only practicable line of advance ran along the edge of a ridge nearly as ‘sharp and perilous’ as the bridge leading to the Mohammedan Paradise. This ridge was so steep that, thickly clothed as it was with trees, shrubs, and creepers, it was frequently impossible to advance without pulling one’s self up by one’s hands. In selecting something to lay hold of to effect this, great care had to be exercised. The ‘lawyer’ palm, which sends out trailing shoots admirably adapted to the purpose of tripping up the unwary, is studded with thorns in the very part where it is most natural for a climber requiring its aid to seize it. In the most difficult places, there flourished an especially exasperating variety of pandanus. This tree has many uses, and in this instance it seemed to have been purposely placed just where it might best help the ascending traveller. The pyramid of stalks or aërial roots, which unite several feet above the surface of the soil to form the trunk, always looked so inviting to those in want of a ‘lift,’ that no experience was sufficient to prevent repeated recourse to its assistance. Unhappily, each stalk of a diameter convenient for grasping by the hand was studded with sharp prickles, almost invariably hidden by a coating of deliciously soft moss. It was not until the weight of the body was thrown on the hand encircling one of these deceptive stalks, that the situation was fully realised. In the absence of a path, it was of some advantage to keep amongst the rearward members of the party. A few persons in front quickly made a trail, which was not very often lost, particularly when the leaders had had the forethought to break branches off adjacent shrubs, so that the fractures served as guideposts to those following. The great steepness of the sides of the spur on the ridge of which was the line of advance, rendered it most desirable not to stray from the path, as serious injury, if not complete destruction, would in such case have been inevitable. Sometimes a climber dislodged a stone that went crashing amongst the thick growth with which the precipitous sides were covered, downwards for hundreds of feet, till the noise of its fall died away in the distance.
Clouds were collecting about the mountain, and the sun was about to set, when at length the whole party stood upon the summit. There was a comparatively level space, perhaps thirty feet square, thickly overgrown with trees and shrubs. The moist heat on the way up had been great enough to render every one’s clothes dripping wet, even had not occasional thick mists drenched our scanty garments. It was so late, that no time was to be lost in making arrangements for spending the night on the top of the mountain. Tomahawks were brought into requisition, and several trees were felled and laid one on another along two sides of a small square, thus forming a low wall, under shelter of which a bivouac might be formed. Many showers had fallen on the higher parts of the mountain during the day, and so general was the humidity that it was difficult to light a fire. When this was at length accomplished, a meal was prepared, and soon despatched. The kindling of a fire incited the native carriers to do the same on every available spot, amongst others at a point dead to windward of the bivouac, to the grievous annoyance of the travellers’ eyes, till a more suitable place was substituted.
With leaves and twigs plentifully strewed under the lee of the felled logs, the white men had managed to get themselves ‘littered down’ for the night. The small rain which had been falling nearly ever since the summit had been reached, turned into sharp showers, and showed symptoms of continuing. The supply of water was found to be very short, as, trusting to the statements of the natives before it was ascertained that their knowledge of the country did not extend beyond the termination of the path, it was thought unnecessary to carry a large supply to the end of the journey, where, it was anticipated, it would be found in abundance. The prospect for the night was not cheering. Those who had brought a change of clothing now put it on in place of the dripping garments hitherto worn, and rolling themselves in their blankets, lay down to sleep, or to try to sleep. Many things conspired to prevent slumber. It was soon discovered that some of the party had no blanket. Mr Chalmers at once set himself to rectify this, and did so in characteristic fashion. He borrowed a knife, and, cutting his own blanket in two, insisted upon its being accepted by a companion who had none. It is related of one of the several Saints Martin—on board men-of-war, we cannot be expected to be very familiar with the hagiology, so it will be well not to attempt to specify which of them it was—that seeing a beggar in want of a cloak, he gave him his own. Now, seriously, without in the least desiring to disparage the charity of the saint, it may be pointed out that beggars are usually met with in the streets of towns, and that to give away a cloak therein is at the best not more meritorious than giving to a companion half of your only blanket at the beginning of a rainy night on the summit of a distant mountain. But this was not all. It was decided that the best protection against rain would be the erection of some sort of tent. ‘Ta-ma-té’ was soon employed in helping to construct this shelter, and in spite of all opposition, persisted in contributing the remaining portion of his blanket to form the roof.
Contenting himself with as much of a companion’s blanket as could be spared to him, he made himself, as he protested, extremely comfortable; and that all might be as merry as possible, started a musical entertainment by favouring the company with Auld Langsyne. His jollity was contagious. There was a succession of songs. When these had been concluded with a ‘fore-bitter’ of formidable length on the death of Lord Nelson by a seaman of H.M.S. Nelson gifted with a fine voice, the natives were invited to take up the singing. They complied without much hesitation. They sang in a low and rather plaintive tone, with a curious deep tremolo uttered from time to time in unison. At length, as some began to grow sleepy, Mr Chalmers asked for silence, so that the teacher Biga might be able to conduct the evening devotions. This he did in an extempore prayer, attentively followed by the natives, and, if not understood, at all events reverently listened to, by the white men. To one at least of the latter, sleep was impossible. Fatigue must be indeed overwhelming which will enable one to slumber when, in the midst of the only available sleeping-place, a point of rock is so situated that it almost forces a passage between the ribs. Luckily, there were no mosquitoes or other voracious insects. But there was an unpleasant many-legged black slug four or five inches long which evinced an unconquerable predilection for crawling over the naked human body. It was far from pleasant to find this animal just effecting a passage between the neckband of the shirt and the skin, or trying to coil itself round the ear of the side which happened to be uppermost. A careful member of our party, before lying down, had stretched a line between two trees, and on it had hung his wet clothes. Looking about him in the night, he discovered that the clothes had disappeared, and his announcement of this discovery elicited from a companion the intelligence that the natives were wearing them. This statement, so to speak, brought down the house. The natives heartily joined in the hilarious applause with which it was received. The same reception was extended to occasional ejaculations from other companions of the bivouac, such as, ‘By Jove! there’s a native with my shirt on!’ Subsequent reflections convinced the owners that it was fortunate that the temporary borrowing of their clothes by their native friends had been looked upon as part of the fun of the excursion. Had any one been so ill-conditioned as to maltreat or scold the merry, intelligent carriers, they would, almost to a certainty, have stolen away in the night, and have left the white men to get themselves and their things home as best they could. One native gentleman displayed so much ingenuity in the mode of wearing one of the more unmentionable garments, which he somehow or other succeeded in converting into a kind of sleeved waistcoat, that the appreciative owner made him a present of it. The new possessor had a proper pride in this acquisition, and wore it in his village after the descent; indeed, he had the honour of being introduced to the commodore whilst clad in it.
‘Ta-ma-té,’ who, with universal assent, had established a genial despotism over the bivouac, issued a decree that every one should make a joke, and that the joke adjudged the best should be sent to a newspaper for publication. Either this was trying the loyalty of his contented subjects too severely, or the labour of incubating jokes was too great for wearied mountaineers, for, after one or two feeble endeavours to comply with his edict, a general silence fell upon the company.
In the morning, after a not absolutely perfect night’s rest, deficiency of water rendered abstaining from even an attempt at breakfast compulsory. There was little, therefore, to delay the ceremony of hoisting the union-jack—providently brought for the purpose by Lieutenant Fenton—upon the newly crowned summit. A suitable tree was cut down and lopped; the flag was secured to it; and a hole having been dug in which to insert it, the flagstaff was reared amidst a very good imitation of three cheers from the natives, and the real thing from the white men. The descent then began; and much of it was effected by a different route from that of the ascent. Orchids, ferns, and other plants were collected on the way. Sore hands, barked shins, added to want of sleep and to a long fast, made the descent seem to some even more fatiguing than the climb of the day before. The interval before water was reached appeared excessive, and before a halt could be made for breakfast, interminable. By two P.M. the travellers were back on board their ships, proud of the distinction of being the first to ascend a mountain summit in Eastern New Guinea.